


One Day/Day One

by brightowl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ASSBABY, Childbirth, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Veterinarian Scott McCall (Teen Wolf)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightowl/pseuds/brightowl
Summary: It’s not that Derek doesn’t take Stiles’s “SOS” text seriously.He does.But he does with more annoyance and less concern than a man with a 9-months-pregnant boyfriend probably should when receiving an “SOS” text from said 9-months-pregnant boyfriend.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 822





	One Day/Day One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic was written while I was (am) 38 weeks pregnant, anxiously waiting for my little cub to show up. I threatened my friends with an assbaby fic for years, so here it is, in all its unbeta-ed glory.

It’s not that Derek doesn’t take Stiles’s “SOS” text seriously. 

He does. 

He closes his laptop and drives out to the spot where Stiles’s pin drop indicated. He even has the sense to leave the Camaro and take what Stiles has dubbed the “dad-mobile”—the SUV that had been their first major joint purchase after they had gone to pick out a carseat and realized neither of them had a car with back doors. Or a back seat. Or any features that might be considered “safe for children.”

But he does so with more annoyance and less concern than a man with a 9-months-pregnant boyfriend probably should when receiving an “SOS” text from said 9-months-pregnant boyfriend. 

Derek sees the Jeep parked in a turnout next to the two-lane road that runs through the preserve, and starts to think his assumption—that the piece of junk broke down and Stiles didn’t want to call AAA and have to explain his _situation_ to a stranger—is entirely correct, when he sees the Sheriff’s squad car pulling up from the other side. 

_Fuck._

If Stiles called or texted them both then—

Derek slams the SUV into park and jumps out, seeing the Sheriff do the same. They make eye contact, worry lines etched across the Sheriff’s forehead, and jog to opposite sides of the Jeep, Derek on the driver’s side, the Sheriff’s on the passenger’s, wrenching their respective doors open.

Stiles is sitting on the floor behind the bench, leaning against the window. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s clutching his giant belly, breathing heavily. “Just a second,” he grunts. His shoes and pants are in a pile by the back doors, his lower half wrapped in a faded Star Wars beach towel. 

Derek is about to climb over the bench to start taking Stiles’s pain, when he jolts—the driver’s seat is soaking wet.

“Stiles?” the Sheriff says gently as Stiles’s breathing slows and he seems to relax. 

“Oh, hey!” Stiles looks up at them with a weary smile. “Think one of you could give me a ride to the animal clinic?”

“You’re in labor?” The Sheriff clarifies. 

“It would appear so,” Stiles says. “No big deal, though, Scott knows I’m on the way, everything going according to plan, just need a—fuck,” he gasps, cutting himself off with a groan.

Derek knows the plan. The plan, which involves Scott and Melissa delivering the baby at Scott and Deaton’s clinic, was _supposed to_ commence with contractions taking place several minutes apart. Minutes. Not seconds. 

_Don’t panic,_ Derek tells himself. _Don’t you dare fucking panic right now._

He pulls out his phone and dials Scott on speaker, who answers before it rings. “What’s going on? Where’s Stiles? He said he was on his way 20 minutes ago.”

“We’re out by the Preserve,” Derek says, trying to school his breathing, his heart rate. He can feel his eyes flashing blue, his claws threatening to push through the pads of his fingers. “His water broke. It’s happening too fast.” 

“Is he pushing yet?” 

“No!” Stiles interjects, panting as the contraction ends. 

Besides the clear pushing sounds he was making, Derek’s known stiles over a decade—even if he wasn’t a Werewolf, he’s be able to catch Stiles in a lie. “He was pushing,” Derek growls into the phone.

“Stay right there,” Scott says. “Send me a pin drop, and I’ll be there ASAP. Don’t get off the phone. I’ll be on my headset.” 

Derek sends the location. 

“Are you guys alone?” Scott asks, and Derek can hear Scott’s motorcycle rev moments later. 

“I’m here,” the Sheriff cuts in.

“Oh, good,” Scott says, “you know how to deliver a baby, right, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff grimaces. “I think this is a little out of my purview, Scott.”

“No one is delivering anything unless their last name is McCall!” Stiles shouts from the back, and suddenly Derek can tell he’s contracting— _pushing_ —again.

Derek and the Sheriff look at one another again before Derek slams the driver’s side door shut and jogs around the back of the Jeep. He rips the back doors open and Derek reaches for Stiles’s wrist before hesitating.

“Scott, can I take his pain?”

“Go for it.”

“Give me your hand, Stiles.”

His eyes still clamped shut, his breathing still labored, Stiles reaches out blindly, and Derek interlaces their fingers. The moment they make contact, Derek feels the tug of agony as thick, black lines snake up his arm. He’s almost dizzy with it, can’t believe Stiles is pretending to be okay right now when he’s clearly right at the precipice of birth. 

Derek holds tight, pulling Stiles pain until it fades with the contraction. Stiles looks at him, and suddenly Derek sees it, smells it on him so strongly he can’t believe he missed it before.

Stiles is terrified. 

Derek takes a deep breath, holding eye contact with Stiles. “Scott,” he says firmly, as he sets the phone down and climbs into the back of the Jeep. “The baby is coming. What do I do?”

“On the next contraction, see if you can see the head.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, “can you turn this way?”

With some effort, Stiles shifts so that his back is against the bench. The Sheriff climbs onto the passenger’s seat and places a hand on each of Stiles’s shoulders.

Derek approaches Stiles’s legs like he’s a wounded animal. “I’m going to look under the towel now, okay?” 

Stiles nods, pulling his knees up. 

And at first, everything looks normal. But then a contraction starts, and as Derek lays a hand on Stiles’s ankle to start taking his pain—

“I can definitely see a head,” he tells Scott. 

“Shit,” Scott says.

“Not helpful, Scotty!” Stiles shouts as the contraction finishes. 

This time, though, Stiles’s pain doesn’t subside with the contraction. 

“Crowning. Crowning—I think that’s what’s happening,” Derek says, alternating glances under the towel and up at Stiles. 

“Just keep taking his pain and tell me when the head is all the way out,” Scott instructs.

Derek keeps his hand locked tight on Stile’s ankle, lines of blacks almost permanent against his skin. Stiles still pants with the effort of it, throws his head back against the bench. His father wraps an arm around his chest and whispers in his ear, “hang in there, kid. You’re doing great. I’m so proud of you. Your mom would be so proud of you.”

Stiles holds his father’s forearm for leverage, and pushes hard as his next contraction overtakes him and he shouts with the effort of it.

“Head is out,” Derek announces.

“Okay, Derek,” Scott says, “use your finger to see if there’s any cord around its neck.”

Derek checks. “No cord.”

“Now just make sure to support the head as the baby comes out and then put the baby right on Stiles’s chest. Right on his skin. Then just don’t do anything, don’t touch the cord, and I’ll be right there.” 

“Do I really have to be _more_ fucking naked for this?” Stiles whines, even as he pulls his T-shirt off, then suddenly—“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Derek gives Stiles’s thigh one last squeeze for the pain, hoping it’s enough because he has to let go as a shoulder, then another, arms, a chest—an entire tiny body is thrust from Stiles’s body and into Derek’s hands. It’s slimy and red and white and disgusting and Derek is certain his heart is about to explode.

_It’s a boy,_ he thinks, but he can’t say anything. Can’t breathe.

Stiles moves the towel out of the way for a moment, so Derek can lay the baby on his chest, right above his softening bump. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes as he wraps his large hands over the baby’s tiny back and bottom.

The baby starts to cry, steady and loud and coursing with life.

“Look at that,” the Sheriff says, still holding Stiles’s shoulders, giving him a kiss on his hair.

Derek feels his eyes flash once more, overcome with instinct and emotion. He wants to shift into his full wolf form, lay on top of his mate, lick his cub clean.

Distantly, he hears Scott’s motorcycle pull up behind them, but he can’t take his eyes off Stiles and the baby.

When Scott interrupts “I can take it from here!” Derek loses control for a moment, his fangs dropping, his claws slashing at this apparent threat. Scott dodges him easily, flashing red eyes in an attempt to subdue him.

“Derek,” Stiles says softly. 

He snaps out of it. Shifts back.

He shrugs off his leather jacket and places it over the baby and Stiles. He kisses Stiles gently on the lips, presses their foreheads together for just a moment, then gets out of the trunk as Scott climbs in with his black medical duffel. 

He walks around the side of the Jeep, and falls to his knees, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wants to cry. Wants to howl. Wants to run. It’s too much. He can hear the baby crying— _his_ baby, his _son_. So healthy, so safe now. His heartbeat is fast, but steady. Stiles’s, too. Scott is taking any lingering pain. Derek can hear Scott narrating, fuck, even joking back and forth with Stiles as he cuts the cord and delivers the placenta and gives Stiles shots and makes sure he hasn’t sustained any permanent damage. 

Footsteps approach and Derek looks up to see the Sheriff holding out a hand. “Come here, son.” He helps Derek to his feet and pulls him into a crushing embrace. They’ve been on good-enough terms since Stiles and he started seeing one another romantically, but they’ve never hugged. Not like this. “You did good,” he says as he rubs Derek’s back. “You did great.”

~~~

Derek has a fresh set of clothes for Stiles and the baby—Jonah Scott Stilinski-Hale—in the back of the dad-mobile. They get changed and fasten the baby into the car seat to take him home. Melissa will come check on them tomorrow and bring the birth certificate paperwork. They leave the Jeep along with Derek’s completely-ruined leather jacket. They’ll come back another day. 

They stop at the drive-thru on the way home at Stiles’s insistence—“Just gave birth. Deserve a cheeseburger.”

When they get back to the house, Stiles hops in the shower, and Derek warms a bottle of formula. 

He takes his shirt off, not sure if it’s because of what he read in the baby books, or pure instinct to hold his young against his body, and removes Jonah from his car seat, to feed him on the sofa.

Jonah suckles the bottle without complaint. The formula has a stench of iron, but Derek is surprised to find it doesn’t bother him because Jonah smells better than anything he’s ever sensed. Derek presses his nose to the black fuzz of Jonah’s head and breathes him in. He smells like Stiles. He smells like Derek’s mother and father. He smells fresh and new and like rain and wood and home. 

And magic. 

It seems so long ago that Derek was in bed on his stomach, Stiles laying over his back, when Stiles had traced his tattoo and whispered, “There’s another meaning. You never told me. Pack. Mate. Family. You need all three, Derek. You deserve all three.”

He’d flipped over and taken Stiles into his arms. 

“I found a spell,” Stiles had said. 

And here he is. 

Ten fingers and ten toes and honey-colored eyes that flash yellow when he cries. 

Stiles gets out of the shower, fluffy in his bathrobe, wincing as he sits down next to them. He tucks his head on Derek’s shoulder and runs a finger down Jonah’s tiny nose. “You okay?” he says.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

Stiles yawns deeply. “Probably. And I am, by the way. Okay. I wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t made it though.”

“You’d have been fine. You were handling it.” _You were amazing._

“I wasn’t. I really, really wasn’t. You have no idea.”

Derek huffs. Jonah has stopped sucking at the bottle and fallen asleep. They watch him breathe.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Derek says finally. 

“I had a baby!” Stiles grins. “Look at him. Isn’t he cute?”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Okay well when I tell you, just remember that you’re holding our sweet baby boy, who is healthy and perfect and _sleeping_ —“

“Stiles,” Derek growls this time. 

“I went to the nemeton.”

“You did what!”

“Shh shhh!” Stiles scoots back on the couch and gestures toward Jonah with both hands. “Baby! You’re holding the baby!”

Derek clutches Jonah against himself, breathing loudly through his nose. “What,” he says as slow and controlled as he can, “exactly were you thinking?”

“Ahh,” Stiles scratches the back of his own head. “I wasn’t exactly thinking. I had more of a feeling.”

“A feeling,” Derek repeats. His rage is not at all assuaged at all by the fact that they’re all in one piece now.

“My magic it’s— I’ve been feeling so weak. You knew that.”

“Yes and we _agreed_ that you’d wait until after the baby came to do something about it.”

Stiles makes a frustrated sound. Puts his head in his hands. “I can’t explain it. I just knew I had to go there or…”

“Or…”

He looks up, presses his hand to Jonah’s head. “Or we wouldn’t make it. Either of us.”

“Then why did you go alone, Stiles? I’d have gone with you.”

“I would never ask you to go there.”

“What about Deaton? Isn’t your magic his responsibility?” 

Stiles just shakes his head. He strokes his thumb across Jonah’s forehead. “I told you. It was a feeling.”

Derek is not satisfied. “Tell me what happened.”

“I drove out. I hiked to the stump. And I just touched it. And it worked, like, instantly. I felt awesome. Like before I got pregnant. Strong and energized. And I turned back to the road and I started having contractions. I was trying to ignore them but they were coming faster and faster and I texted Scott when I was almost to the road and said I was on my way. I figured I’d still be able to drive between contractions and you could meet me at the clinic. But when I got to the Jeep, I sat down and my water broke and that’s when I texted you and my dad.”

Derek imagines him. In pain. And fear. A human. A full-term pregnant human. Stumbling alone through the forest. 

He maneuvers Jonah so he’s resting against his shoulder, and uses his other arm to pull Stiles against him, kiss him roughly on the head. “I can’t believe I agreed to have a baby with such a complete idiot.” 

He can feel Stiles smile. “You love me.” 

Derek growls and holds Stiles and their son tighter. 

He does.


End file.
